


Gin Made of Tears

by glassmountains



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Cosette Fauchelevent & Grantaire Friendship, Courfeyrac (Les Misérables) is a Good Friend, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, F/M, Fix-It, Getting Together, M/M, Permets-tu? | Do You Permit It?, Protective Grantaire, Sharing a Bed, combeferre literally spends waaaayyy too much trying to get enjoltaire together, excessive use of the word permit, gavroche isnt dead either, grantaire pines but its fine, like waaayyyyy too much use of it, ok they DON'T, sort of vague description of bullets being removed but he passes out before anything comes of it, the national guard can't hit the broad side of a barn from three feet away, there's gonna be some french and english thrown together, they don't die at the barricade, they held hands for an indescribably long time on the way to the hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassmountains/pseuds/glassmountains
Summary: The Barricade Boys manage to survive the barricade, somehow. Enjolras has been acting odd ever since that fateful day and Grantaire really wishes that he hadn't said that Enjolras could live with him. In his apartment. That only has one bed.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 13





	Gin Made of Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Bleh, some random idea popped into my head and I kinda ran with it.... who knows what'll happen next cause it ain't me. If someone is ooc please don't @ me.  
> By the way y'all, its definitely Aaron Tveit as Enjolras and George Blagden as Grantaire.

I had felt the bullets pierce my skin. I should have been dead. But there I was, looking up at the golden god himself. Who was, by some measure of coincidence that served to further convince me of his godliness, also alive. Barely breathing and bloodstained but alive. Alive and clutching my hand, like a child clutches to his toys. The soldiers had left, and I heard Madame Houcheloup softly exclaim. When did she even get here? I thought she was hiding in the back room. She must have come up later.  
“Look what they did to you. You’re just children.” her voice was soft and caring.  
I was reminded briefly of my mother who had sung nice songs when I was younger.  
Enjolras groaned and I stood to catch him before he could fall. His breathing was laboured and I was now all too aware of how much he needed a doctor.  
“Hurry downstairs before the guards return. Your friends are in the cellar,” Mme. Houcheloup said.  
I was grateful as she led us downstairs and into a cellar where I saw my friends. All of them had been injured and some were probably much closer to death than Enjolras but at the moment I was more concerned about him.  
Courfeyrac muttered, “R, what are you doing here? I thought you would have been at home sleeping off the liquor. Have you given yourself to our cause?”  
“Dear Courfeyrac,” I replied, “I could not leave you to a fool’s errand by yourselves and I have not given myself to your cause but to your leader. And said fearless leader needs a doctor. Is Joly here?”  
Joly only nodded and grabbed a bag of medical supplies that Combeferre had convinced him to bring. For once, it seemed like Enjolras wasn’t going to argue as I was joined by Courfeyrac in helping him sit on a table. My bullet wounds, which had felt so grave in the light of fear, were now completely harmless and their pain was forgotten as I watched Joly remove bullets from Enjolras.  
“The guards. They’re upstairs. Quiet down.”  
Whoever said that seemed to not realise that bullets were currently being taken out of someone’s body. My free hand, being the one not currently gripped tight by Enjolras, reached up and clamped down over his mouth to silence him. According to Joly- whose opinion was far more valuable than anyone else’s, it appeared that none of the bullets hit anywhere vital and one had missed Enjolras completely, choosing instead to tear a gaping hole in his coat. His beloved red coat was torn up but somehow, he was alive, and I didn't know who to thank for this. Enjolras’ had gripped mine tighter as each bullet was removed and finally let some of the pressure go. The device used to take out the bullets was red now, covered in blood, but all the bullets that were once in Enjolras were gone, scattered across the floor of the cellar.  
“R, have you any alcohol?” Joly began wiping the blood on his coat.  
I nodded, removing my hand from Enjolras’ mouth and pulled a small flask of gin out of my coat pocket. He poured some of it on the other side of his coat and cleaned the clamps. Joly turned towards me and unbuttoned my shirt. He gasped as he saw the bullet's locations.  
“This is gonna hurt. I’m sorry in advance,” Joly whispered.  
Mme. Houcheloup walked down to announce that the National Guard was gone, and we could leave to get to a hospital. I heard a muttered assent before the pain became unbearable. Joly had started to pull the bullets out of me. It was pain like no other I had known, the bullets ripping into me had hurt far less than bullets being pulled out with the precision of a doctor’s practiced hand.  
“Grantaire!”  
I barely heard my name being yelled before everything went black. Surely my time had come, and I would die.  
✦✧✦❀✦✧✦  
I woke up in a hospital bed, laying next to Enjolras, who was still holding onto my hand but now our fingers were laced together, and his thumb ran absentmindedly over my hand. He thought that I was asleep, the inevitable conclusion to arrive at. I cannot help but annoy my fearless Apollo.  
Pretending that sleep was still upon me, I began to mutter, “My darling Apollo.”  
Enjolras froze.  
“Do you permit it?”  
Unfortunately, that was as far as I went because he started shaking me awake.  
“Grantaire. Grantaire! Wake up. There’s medicine for you to take,” Enjolras’ voice woke me from my fake slumber.  
I sat up, suddenly all too aware that there were other people in the room. Other people, who for their part appeared not to have noticed that I had actually said anything. Which was somehow gratifying. A few nuns were standing above me, and one was holding a small vial, I assumed it contained some medicine that would taste horrible. But I drank it anyway. I was right. It tasted like someone had taken unripe grapes and made wine out of them. Then someone had taken that wine and doused it in garlic and vinegar. Every flavor in it tasted wrong.  
“You have a very devoted friend there, Monsieur. He hasn’t let go of your hand since you arrived,” one of the nuns, a kind looking woman named Sister Marguerite, remarked.  
Another nun shushed her. I turned to look at Enjolras, who looked sheepish. His confidence in everything he did had disappeared.  
“Did he really? I never would have thought he would permit it,” I smirked, enjoying the flush that rose on Enjolras’ face at the reminder of what I thought would be my last words.  
It was, technically, a confession of love. A confession that I’m sure Enjolras would never really understand but I allowed myself to hope, albeit skeptically, that he would understand what I had done. The others were sitting on hospital beds talking when I heard a familiar voice.  
“Gavroche?”  
The other Amis turned to see the petit Gamin standing in the doorway with… Marius. Marius and some blonde woman. I assumed that she was the girl that had him all distracted that night in the Musain.  
“Hello Enjolras. This is Cosette. Please be nice,” Marius said, gesturing to the blonde.  
She smiled and I could see why Marius would pick her. She seemed nice. She was pretty and had a way of calming anyone who was in the room. Even Enjolras, who was never relaxed, seemed to visibly destress when she entered the room.  
“Apollo. What are you doing?”  
I hadn’t noticed that he was getting out of the bed until I felt his hand start to leave mine.  
Everyone turned to look. Courfeyrac had a smirk on his face and it was then that I saw the implications. Our hands were still connected, and it was now much more obvious with both our arms extended. His hand fit perfectly in mine, which was neither here nor there, but it was somehow still a critical thing to need to recognize somewhere in my brain. I was also sober, the soberest I had been in a while and could see the effects it was having already. My hands shook less and now it was Enjolras’ hand that shook.  
“I thought that you might want to have your bed,” Enjolras said.  
“But you’re warm and it is so very cold at night.”  
Jehan laughed. Ever the romantic, it seems he found my words an attempt at flirting. I pulled Enjolras’ back onto the bed and everyone turned back towards Marius, who was grinning excitedly. Apparently, he and Gavroche had been saved by Cosette’s father, a man named Fauchelevent. That same man had given them his permission to marry before having to leave for England.  
“Is this your way of inviting us to the wedding?” Feuilly exclaimed.  
Cosette beamed and nodded, “Of course you are invited. Marius tells me many great things about you. The generous Combeferre and the kind Courfeyrac. Joly, who enjoys having fun. Jehan, the romantic. Enjolras, the brave leader of your revolution. And Grantaire-” she pointed at me, “the lovestruck skeptic.”  
Gavroche remarked, as he had been uncharacteristically silent through all of this, “He is lovestruck. But I think that Enj-”  
“Do not finish your words, Gavroche, or it will be the last you ever see of revolution,” Enjolras raised his free hand to shoo him off.  
I stepped in, “Gav. Why don’t you come over here? I have something I need to tell you.”  
Gavroche plodded over and stuck his tongue out at Enjolras. I whispered into his ear that he shouldn’t tell secrets, something I was constantly reminding him of. He nodded but remained a tiny asshole to Enjolras, so nothing much had changed there. Which I could not have been prouder of.  
“Wait, kid, are you implying that Enjolras is in love with something other than his beloved Patria?” Courfeyrac stood up from the bed he had been sitting on.  
“That cannot be, he loves his country far too much.”  
Everyone began to chime in on the issue and Enjolras rolled his eyes.  
I smiled and spoke, “Of course there is someone that Apollo loves other than France, it is himself.”  
“J’ai un mère,” Enjolras laughed, catching onto the joke.  
“Where is your mother anyways? I thought,” Jehan said, “that she and your father disliked your politics.”  
Which, according to everything Enjolras had actually ever spoken of his mother, was without a doubt true. His father had kicked him out, but his mother was colder. She had made the conscious decision to turn her nose up at her only son when he passed by and that made her worse in my opinion.  
Enjolras nodded but his mind was definitely elsewhere.  
“Men, this should-”  
Courfeyrac cut him off, “Listen E, as much as I agree that we should continue our cause, I really don’t think that it’s healthy to do so right after surviving being shot. Just wait a little while to get the guards off of our case.”  
The room went silent because no one, not even me, had ever told Enjolras that he could not host a protest or a rally. This sentence led way to Enjolras just gripping my hand tighter when the words ‘being shot’ were spoken. It was almost like a silent promise, one that I wasn’t even aware of. I knew not what he could promise me.  
“R, do you think that,” Combeferre hesitated before continuing, “maybe Enj could stay with you? Just until the heat from this cools down.”  
One awkward silence was broken, and another created. All I could feel, though, was Enjolras’ hand in mine. It seemed fitting. Oddly fitting, like we had been designed this way; designed to fit perfectly with each other.  
I didn’t know what is was going to say until one word came out of my mouth, “Yas.”  
That was definitely not what I wanted to say. Well, it was- in a way- but Enjolras wasn’t supposed to give me a pleading look. He definitely wasn’t supposed to bite at the corner of his lip and tighten his grip on my hand. If he hadn’t, I would have been fine to answer no but alas, he did, and my answer was changed.  
“Merci.” Enjolras, the mystery that he was, gave me a sly smile which made its way into the depths of my soul and brought light into the darkest places of my mind.  
My mouth was immediately filled with cotton and I couldn’t bring myself to speak.  
“Cat got your tongue?”  
I turned to see Feuilly giving me a look, one I recognized in my soul as being his “someone’s in love” look. He had given it to Marius when he walked in after meeting Cosette and had given a mournful version of it towards Eponine before her untimely demise.  
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, “I am capable of speech. I assure you that no cat holds my tongue.”  
“No cat holds your tongue, but someone holds your heart,” Feuilly replied.  
Courfeyrac coughed before I could make my usual sarcastic remark regarding this matter of my emotions. It was no secret among Les Amis De L’ABC that I had found myself in the unfortunate situation of having feelings for the leader in red; it was a secret to Enjolras, who was oblivious to affairs of the heart concerning him and believed that I held disdain for him. He, who claimed to be superiorly smart, would not see the simplest of facts in front of his face. What was more troubling than my emotions were my lack of a second bed. I had a small place, only one room, and a single bed in that room.  
✦✧✦❀✦✧✦  
The day had finally come for our release from the hospital. My imagination must have been acting up because it appeared as though Enjolras was excited to live with me. His step had a sort of bounce as we weaved through the market buying food for our first night living together. Neither of us had brought up the day of the revolution and everything that came after- particularly the hand holding- but it was obvious how much Enj had thought about saying something.  
“R, why are you buying meat? Surely it’s too expensive.”  
I laughed at Enjolras’ question, “I know the butcher. I did a portrait of his granddaughter in exchange for the free meat, but only a once a week occasion. I can’t just wander in for free delicacies every day.”  
Enj smiled sadly, “I didn’t know you were an artist.”  
“Then I suppose that must be added to the list of things about me which you do not know. I’ve been told that I paint wonderfully. I’m not as sure though.”  
For some odd reason, Enjolras seemed sad when I mentioned there being a long list of things about me that he wasn’t aware of, but I assumed that it was merely an exhibition of his distaste for not knowing things. I stared at him while he went into a sweets shop, barely aware of my own footfalls joining him inside. I couldn’t help but reflect on our few days in the hospital. He rarely let go of my hand and I could tell that he had almost instinctively reached for it when I came up beside him at the counter, looking at all the pastries he had put into a basket, because his hand brushed against mine softly but recoiled with a realization that was almost certainly a recognition of our current location.  
“I got some sweets,” Enjolras said, dropping a few sous onto the counter, “I thought they might be nice with dinner.”  
This was oddly domestic. He acted like we had done this before and ignored the strange look from the shop owner as we headed out outside and into the bright Paris sunlight. I directed us towards my apartment while Enj talked about  
“What does your place look like?”  
“It’s small, Apollo. Very small. I’ve only got one bed.”  
Enjolras sighed at my use of his loathed nickname, “Why do you insist on calling me Apollo? What do you gain from it?”  
I smirked and pushed open the door to my apartment building.  
“When did we get here?”  
Enjolras looked so confused, bless him. He lived in his head too much, as was evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t noticed us walking towards my apartment while he talked non-stop, as he is inclined to do at any other time.  
We stepped inside the building and I led the way to my apartment, holding the steaks we had bought earlier in one hand and my key in the other. Enjolras trailed behind me and I suddenly remembered. My paintings. My apartment was littered with them. None that had anything vaguely embarrassing on them, but I wasn’t completely sure how he would react to seeing them. I hesitated to unlock the door but managed to push it open. I walked inside and put the meat down on my table.  
“You painted these I suppose?”

**Author's Note:**

> Merci- thank you  
> Petit-the masculine form of small  
> J'ai un mere- I have a mother  
> If I missed any please feel free to comment and I'll add it to the note!


End file.
